My mother would have loved this poem and as it would have been her 82nd birthday today, I am sharing it in her honour. Mum taught me that Cholmondley Featherstonhaugh is pronounced Chummlee Fanshaw (whom I have recently found out was a character created by AJ Carothers) and we all know what a stickler she was!

Wednesday, 29 June 2016

Usually I'd be picking up Erbie and taking him to swimming later, but Huston has told me not to collect him today, not to come home tonight or come back to the flat until 2.30pm tomorrow. When this has happened before I've begged, gone running, cajoled, apologised, cried. Today I decided I'd had enough of being bullied, so I have not gone to collect Erbie. I have asked the mum's to look out for him, but no news so far so all must be well.

I popped in to see Erbie at lunchtime under the pretence that I was taking him a coat and said he would be having a boys night and I'd see him tomorrow.

Saturday, 4 June 2016

This is a question I asked myself as I walked down the hill
this morning.

Danny Huston

Angelica Huston as Morticia in
The Addams Family

Jack Huston in Broadwalk Empire

I have decided to rename TheGR as he is no-longer The
Guardian Reader, hasn’t read it for over a year in fact if not longer. I shall
rename him Huston,

a) because he is a huge fan of the Huston clan from
grandfather Walter
tofather John, son Danny, Angelica and nephew
Jack all of
the Hollywood acting, writing, directing dynasty

and

b) as in …we have a
problem.

Which in turn means I have a problem as I still love him.
I’m beginning to realise I am not to blame for everything, that it may not all
be me, that his happiness is not dependent on me or mine on him.

Sunday, 29 May 2016

Chelsea Flower Show also celebrated the Queen’s 90th birthday this year, with a debut display from New Covent Garden Flower market in The Pavilion. Designed by Ming Veevers Carter, who has been going to the Flower Market for thirty years, it is a two sided display. One side shows the Queen’s head outlined in various blooms each painstakingly watered and checked over daily and the other 112 typical flower buckets used to sell flowers at the market in a refined palette of whites and greens. The stand took 6 months of planning and weighs 2.5 tonnes, the same as the Diamond Jubilee State Coach.

The rear of the New Covent Garden Flower Market display at Chelsea 2016.

The rear of one of the gentlemen at the potato display in the The Pavillion, Chelsea.

Every year there tends to be a trend at Chelsea, this year for me, the most common theme seemed to be grasses, lots of grasses interplanted with flowers continuing the naturalistic approach of recent years. And amongst the purple and white beginning to appear were splashes of the orange spectrum from peach to rust especially I noticed rusty orange specked bearded iris, which I only saw on one stand last year, this – they were everywhere. I suspect a lot of chosen plants were unavailable due to the late flowering.

Rust coloured iris

Peach iris

Coral peony

Iris

Iris and grasses

Chelsea Flower Show 2016

Chelsea Flower Show 2016

The Mathematics Garden

Heuchera and grasses

Other odd photos, The Morgan Stanley Garden for Great Ormond Street by Chris Beardshaw

Morgan Stanley - Great Ormond Street garden

Alliums and Hostas inside The Great Pavilion, which covers 3 acres.

Lily of the Valley with a striped leaf - interesting.

A foxglove with a split flower called ‘Pam’s Split’

Digitalis purpurea - Pam’s split

Digitalis purpurea - Pam’s split

White Verbascum - Flush of White.

Flush of White - Verbascum

Look closely at this orchid and you may be able to spot a dragon’s head.

Tolkien orchid

Sculptures at Chelsea Flower Show.

James Doran-Webb driftwood sculpture were there again, each made and shipped from the Philippines Chelsea is his only UK show case.

James Doran-Webb

James Doran-Webb

Christopher Robin, Winnie the Pooh and Piglet too.

And lest we forget - what started out as two Australian ladies knitting a tribute of 120 poppies to honour their fathers for Remembrance Day 2013, now has an estimated 50,000 contributions in recognition of Anzac (Australia and New Zealand Army Corp) Day 2015 and now here at Chelsea Flower Show in 2016. An amazing sight.

Monday after dropping Erbie off at school, I escaped to my allotment with a flask of tea and some digging shorts secreted in my French shopping basket. The sun was shining and the allotment was an oasis of calm. There is always, always something to busy oneself with, especially at this time of year. I set myself to clearing weeds, adding compost and digging over a small patch, which I then planted up with sunflower seedlings and peas. I added some topsoil to the freesias I planted in the greenhouse, I’m anticipating their heady scent filling the space. I spread a rug on the grass and drank tea whilst listening to the distant noise of children at playtime. Properly recharged for the week ahead, I redressed for the school run and picked myself a bunch of black tulips with some contrasting grey artichoke foliage.

A friend asks me to collect her child as she has a vet emergency, I bump into another friend who has been contracting and off the school circuit, it turns out to be her boy’s birthday, I end up taking the 3 boys to their house whilst she takes her little one swimming. This is excellent as they have a large garden and the birthday boy is made up not to have to tag along with his little sister. They play football in the garden but suddenly someone puts their hand on a bee and gets stung. Tears, lots of screaming, I get the sting out, and try to google ‘bee stings’ then call his mum to check he is not allergic; the boys console and make each other laugh, I let them play a shark game on the iPad. My friend and her daughter return and I accept a rather lovely glass of chilled rosé while I watch her finish icing a fabulous blue birthday cake with a Jaws-like shark atop.

In the shower later I realised I had acquired a ridiculous digging tan on my back, complete with bra strap marks.

Black tulip

Black tulips under my fig tree.

Ridiculous digging tan

On Tuesday The GR woke with a face full of cold sores and a temper to compliment, he spent most of the day barking at me whilst I took him for a walk around the local wood and down to Crouch End, I buy a variegated ivy for the bathroom as I recall reading somewhere that ivy helps remove air-born faecal matter. We were due to visit TheBelleMere after school for a BBQ, however due to ill feeling on TheGRs part about an unfulfilled promise I visited alone with a bottle of wine. I listened to TheBelleMere bemoan the tax office; having recently gifted a lot of money to various causes she discovered this would not lower the amount of tax taken from her pensions at source. I attempted a positive stance and arranged to visit on Friday morning when temper and wine were not in the mix.

Crouch End

Variegated ivy with whale.

Wednesday - I went into town to work at The Hospital Club in Covent Garden. Collected Erbie from school and took him swimming. We get a lift with a lovely mum who takes her 2 children to the same pool. Erbie has just started and is the oldest in his group (for the first time at anything) and it is really boosting his confidence, which he needs, lamb chop. They splash around in various ability levels and five teachers in the water whilst we watch from the viewing gallery. I frequently get too hot but refuse to keep taking off and on my outer layer so remain very still and focused on Erbie who looks up and waves frequently sticking his thumbs up. Changing room, shower, lots of children, vending machine, popcorn, car, traffic, knock knock jokes about poo from the three in the back, roadworks, home. TheGR placates himself with some rather good television, Silicon Valley, Gomorrah and Game of Thrones. I have an early night.

Thursday, shorts to school, not me - Erbie. I collect cold sore medication from the doctor for TheGR. After school, myself and another mum take our boys to visit their school friend in Great Ormond Street hospital. He is recovering from a second operation to rectify a rather botched op on a burst appendix carried out by another hospital. He has been very poorly for weeks, however today he is up, smiling and eating, the perkiest I’ve seen him since the beginning*. The relief from his mum is palpable. She tells us that coming to Great Ormond Street from the previous hospital was like going from a tent to a 5star hotel.

*They are allowed to go home later and he continues to improve.

Erbie and I walk back through Queen’s Square past throngs of workers enjoying a drink in the sun, we wiggle down the side of Russell and Bedford Square (where Erbie had his 1st birthday) have a quick look in Tiger on Tottenham Court Road and then jump on a bus home. TheGR is in a rage, barks more and also takes considerable umbrage to my taking Erbie to Great Ormond Street. I go to bed.

Erbie, Bedford Square

Erbie, Bedford Square, London

Friday. Erbie does not wake until 8.55am, school starts at 8.50am, I deliberately let him sleep-in as this is only the third time it has happened. I write ‘late’ in the school book and take Erbie down to his classroom, the teacher beckons me in and explains that the class are all making individual cards for their poorly friend and that Erbie can deliver them. I let them all know that he came home last night and is now properly on the mend. I go to visit the Belle Mere picking up almond croissants and some freshly ground coffee from W. Martyn. She refuses my hello kiss and mutters something about me buying coffee as I don’t like hers. - ‘No, it’s a gift.’

I listen to TheBelleMere rage about her ex-husband and how unfair life is, she tells me about a visualising scenario where she once put someone in a leaky boat and tied a weight to them and watched them sink in the middle of a deep lake. After a couple of hours I help her complete the unfulfilled promise on the computer. It dawns on me why TheGR’s default stress button might be anger.

I go home, TheGRs cold-sore medication is working and his mood is lifting. I do another load of clothes washing and whiz the hoover around. At 2pm myself and another mum go to a superstore and buy up a substantial amount of ice lollies to sell in the playground for ‘lolly Friday’. There is much calculator use and recounting of boxes, I know only two types out of the many innocent looking fruit lollies are actually dairy-free. We sort them all into cool boxes and stick them in the back of the car; school, trestle tables, float, mad ice lolly sale, we make a profit for the school and the kids play until we finish. Erbie has his birthday mate coming over to play, we give him some bicycle accessories we bought in Tiger and walk him home after tea, posting the class cards through poorly boy’s door on the way. I pick up a bottle of Prosecco and invite myself in!

Back home after Erbie goes to bed, TheGR and I share a bottle of wine and make a playlist on Spotify of the sixty or so songs he has learnt over the past few years on his guitar. It is very eclectic, from Am I A Man or Am I A Muppet to A Boy Named Sue by Johnny Cash. I can’t keep my eyes open any longer and go to bed without TheGR who tells me I deserve a medal.

Tuesday, 10 May 2016

Yes I can is the answer, they wake me in the night. I’m not sweaty - probably I’m too dehydrated for that, but a sensation of intense heat crawls over my body, my hands feel hot. Hot hands, very hot hands, and face and chest and feet.

Friends keep commenting on how brave I am to be wearing my Birkenstocks or (poorly feet shoes as Erbie calls them) when the weather is so unpredictable, I smile and say: ‘I know!’, actually thinking because they are on fire and the thought of putting them into a shoe or sock gives me palpitations.

Then there is the rage, gosh I feel rather angry waves over me as I get cross with Erbie for not being asleep and give him a snuggle to make up for it. Then the tears, not floods, I’m not a flooder, you really have to squash and squeeze a teardrop from me, but my tear ducts got wet whilst watching the Baftas, for goodness sake, I blame the rosé.

I also blame the wine for the apathy, or is that just me. The worst is the midriff, once washboard now more muffin top.

I’m ...., actually what am I? I’ve been saying I’m 46 for too long, I think I may now be a couple of years older than that, which means I could very probably be peri-menopausal, the symptoms start well in advance apparently.

[I’m on the Mirena which is a hormonal coil for contraception and after 6 months my periods stopped, which can happen. I don’t miss them. When I was breastfeeding, my periods stopped of their own accord for a year, (I had a regular copper coil inserted in 2009) as soon as I stopped breastfeeding back they came and slowly got worse until I was virtually bleeding without a break. I got anaemic, I was tired constantly, so after careful consideration had a Mirena inserted in February 2015.]
I need to sort myself out. Make the beds, Kondo the drawers, plan a trip, clean the windows, get a pedicure and a manicure, go for a facial, re-assess the wardrobe, do some yoga, meditate, do the tax returns, menu-plan, go into town, read more; at least put some make-up on and wash my hair. God the apathy is overwhelming.

I went to the doctor to get me some anti-depressants and was offered beta-blockers.

It’s the first time I’ve opened up and said I was not really coping and I became a little overwhelmed, so I guess she thought I was having a panic attack and went straight down that road. Anyway I’ve been given some websites to look at:

moodgym, mindgym and bigwhitewall. I did not take the prescription.

I need to see the sunshine again.

I’ve healed my colitis (touch wood) with diet (thank-you Deliciously Ella and the internet) and the free 10 minute breathing exercises from Headspace which gave my stomach time to relax; now I need to heal my mind.

The GR is unhappy, frustrated and angry most of the time which he takes out on his nearest and dearest - ie me, and I suppose in a way I enable that behaviour.

Erbie has been bullied at school, on and off since starting, the Grandad is much trickier than I ever anticipated and the Belle Mere is well, The Belle Mere.

Don’t get me started on the constant building noise from neighbours.

All this along with a prolonged death from cancer and one suicide from a best friend, mind you that was after her sister had stabbed and killed her mother, so who wouldn’t. Oh and I had to take Erbie to that funeral as it was the same day as TheGR’s brother’s funeral, so neither of us could be there for one another. We don’t sleep in the same bed, we argue and shout, the flat looks unloved, we look unloved, everytime we pick ourselves up something else happens, when will this cycle end?

I try and put pockets of happiness in, martini’s help, Erbie is adorable, my allotment is a welcome escape but I even find that overwhelming sometimes.

Wednesday, 4 May 2016

As a child every Spring my mother would take me to Grovely Wood in Wilton to see the bluebells. Now I am lucky enough to have a bluebell wood on the doorstep and it’s on the Northern line in London, Highgate to be precise. Get you're bluebell fix this weekend before they go over.

Gypsy Gate entrance

Highgate Wood, Muswell Hill. North London N10

Highgate Wood

Highgate wood 2016

Highgate Wood

Native english bluebells are a protected species, and more refined and slender than the fat Spanish variety that pop up in front gardens.

Native english bluebell - please don’t pick me!

Highgate wood

Peace and tranquility - who would think you could get to central London in 20mins on the tube?

Highgate Wood is full of ancient trees, oak, hornbeam and beech amongst them.